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Cadet Parker

Chapter Text

Only one more.

It's the same thought he's had for the past 47 pushups he's done so far. Outside, sizzling under the sweltering heat of an August sun, Peter and the other cadets are into the second week of boot camp.

Just one more. Peter mentally chants it like a mantra.

They say taking matters one step at a time helps the human psyche. So Peter hopes he can fool himself from feeling less like he's about to faint, and more like he's almost at the finish line.

"You okay?" comes a whisper to Peter's right.

The teen casts a glance from the corner of his eye, spotting Rogue hovering, her pale bangs stuck to her forward, drenched in sweat. Peter offered her a tense smile before looking away as several droplets of his sweat were blurring his vision.

"Just hang in there, almost lunch." Rogue whispers once more before jogging off.

Though Peter had no intention of stopping (because that would result in more punishment), Rogue's soft words helped motivate him to struggle a little longer.

Peter hadn't been sure he would manage to make a friend here when he learned three months ago that he was 'voluntarily' enlisted into the North Atlantic Military. A false representation of the mandatory conscription of all mutants that have reached the age of 18.

Peter was the last-minute addition, later escorted into the military at the age of 19. But he had a unique circumstance that also made him an exceptional case to the military as well, which would explain his late enrollment.

"This is pathetic, Parker. Where's that super-strength I've heard so much about?" comes a sarcastic voice, breaking Peter's line of thought.

Bristling, the teen tries not to respond to the jab. He continues to maintain his slow and steady pace because that is what he feels comfortable with, and could do in his capacity without vomiting from exertion.

Contrary to popular belief, super strength didn't work the way movies and books made it seem. It wasn't as if Peter could suddenly stop a train, or lift a car. He couldn't just run a marathon and super jump onto rooftops.

These things took time. Peter Parker was never an active kid; he was a nerd that had worn glasses, found peace in being crammed and locked into a locker, and dug out his textbooks from garbage cans. He was the kid that no one paid attention to unless they needed more lunch money or a human punching bag.

"You're getting distracted again," the sarcastic voice is closer now, hot breath blowing over Peter's reddening ears, "What's got that clock ticking in there, cadet?"

Peter huffs, his body heating up more and not from the afternoon sun. He would get worked up like this every time his Sergeant Major dared to invade his personal space.

It wasn't long before a crotch with an obscene bulge is eye level with Peter, combat boots bent as the owner of them crouched before him.

Peter ignores the tremor that runs through him as rough, scarred fingers curl under his dimpled chin. Amid his pushup, Peter is forced to look into bemused blue eyes.


"49," Peter croaks, pausing in his workout, "...sir."

Sergeant Major Wade W. Wilson's amusement seemed to zap as his face became one of blatant, bored disappoint. He made a face. One Peter could only classify between utter disgust and searing pity.

"Parker, you little piece of shit." Wilson's shoving Peter's face away. "Is that all you can do? You've been at this for an hour."

"It's hot...sir," Peter grits.

"It's hot?" the Major echoes.

He's chuckling to himself before abruptly standing up. He walks around Peter, his face momentarily blank, but eyes were roving Peter's body with a predatory gaze. The coiling of muscles in Peter's stomach has him tense and nervous.

Wilson intimidated him to no end. Maybe it was the fact that the man's skin was in a wreath of endless scars or the fact that he always looked at him like he was going to eat him. Could be the crude way he speaks, never mincing his words or the strange carefree air he had despite his revere as a soldier with a kill count like no other.

It's been this way since Peter arrived at the training campgrounds, Peter and his Sergeant Major didn't get along at all. The teen wanted to avoid him like the plague and would cry himself to sleep at night over the fact he was assigned to Wilson's squad.

"Yo, Summers, get your skinny ass over here." the Major shouts.

He's stopped circling Peter like a vulture, combat boots once again halting before Peter. In all the time, Peter is still maintaining his slow pushups, and finally scratching at 52.

In the brief moment Peter goes down for his 53, he senses that Scott Summers was heading his way, the other cadet sporting specialized shades to prevent any accidents with his mutation.

"Cadet Scott Summers, sir. Reporting for duty," Scott says when he reaches them, standing at attention and offering a tight salute to the commanding officer.

Wilson is practically rolling his eyes at the perfect formation from the cadet but clamps a hand on the cadet's shoulder as a shit-eating grin enraptured his face. Peter grumbled something under his breath, feeling irritated because he had a feeling he knew where this was going. Though he is relieved Scott is the cadet Wilson calls over, he is also a bit miffed because Scott was one shoe away from being a goody-two-shoes cadet that kissed the feet of every superior.

It's not like Peter had anything against star students, or in this case cadets. After all, Peter was a star student, graduated valedictorian at his high school, and was a genius in chemistry and math. Just...not when it came to physical education or sports, or anything that was overtly masculine.

Scott Summers, though? Smart and maybe not the most masculine fellow, but far better at it than Peter.

"Cadet Summers, how about you assist Cadet Parker here with his pushups?" Wilson said.

Peter wish it wouldn't put him in the doghouse to slug that nasty, smug, smirk off of Major Wilson's face. Scott hesitates, though, unsure as to how you could effectively assist anyone in pushups, "How would you like me to do so, sir?"

Wilson doesn't respond; instead of looking at Peter with what the teen is 100% sure is a leer (he wasn't making this shit up, Major Wilson had it out for him), half-lidded in his gaze, he stretches scared lips into a lewd grin.

Without hesitation, the superior officer walks around Peter in seconds, long, thick legs giving advantages in the length of stride. Before Scott or Peter even understands what's happening, the latter is suddenly yelping. Wilson had shoved Scott forward and then forced him to sit on Peter's back.

Scott didn't look that heavy, but he was 5'10" with 160 lbs on him, and that was enough for an already tired, sweaty Peter Parker who was much smaller and weighed far less to be disgruntled over. Technically, Scott should be an easy piece of cake for Peter to hold up due to his mutation, but the military, medical unit, and Peter himself were quick to note not all his gifts seem to only go into effect when Peter was angry.

And the only reason they had that assumption was because of his file, which is how Peter got caught and then slapped into military conscription in the first place. He was angry, and he did a lot of things he wasn't proud of and did not want to reminisce over.

A lot related to Peter's frame of mind, and to be honest, Peter didn't care to reach his full "mutant" potential. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want it. At. All.

"What the fuck?" Peter is shouting, forgetting formalities, his aunt would be ashamed.

Peter barely has time to adjust to the extra weight when a loud smack resounded.

He has never felt more humiliated in his life, face so red with anger and embarrassment--even that time when Flash dumped a trash can on him in the cafeteria felt less shameful. Because not only was he trying to perch a full-grown, sputtering male on his back, but his superior just slapped his ass like it was just an everyday thing.

"Did I say you could talk, cadet?" Wilson snarled.

Peter bites his lip.

"Hold high plank for five minutes and get used to Scotty-boy's firm glutes. Then I want you to continue the rest of your pushups with him on your back," Wilson is patting Scott on the head, whose own face is flushed red, "Scotty, cross your legs-- that's it, get comfortable."

Peter resists the instinct to toss Scott at Wilson. He feels the tingle of eyes on him but ignores it because the other cadets could mind their own damn business. It's not like he hasn't be shoved into an embarrassing situation by Wilson before.

His first day was just as bad, albeit no one sat on him, but Wilson seemed to have only made it known that day that he was the scapegoat for all and anyone's aggression--that he was the squad's designated bitch for the duration of the training camp.

"Now, when I come back to get you for lunch, you better be done, Parker," Wilson says, his large hand covering a span of one of his ass cheeks.

Peter tries not to overthink about the hand on him and opts to ignore it. "Summers, here, will let me know if you're still a bad boy."

With a firm squeeze, Wade squats down again, and presses his scarred lips to Peter's ear, "And no funny business, baby boy. I'll make this is much worse for you."

Peter bites back the pleasant fuck you wanting to roll out of his mouth like the bile waiting in the pit of his stomach. He nods, worried that speaking would make him collapse, and then watches in relief when his superior stands up and walks away.

"Sorry...Parker." Scott says when Wilson is out of earshot, faintly.

Peter had to admit, Wilson could have made it worse, and he should be grateful. He could be stuck with Johnny Storm of all people. And who knows what that mother--he needs to stop cursing, Aunt May, bless her soul, would have his ears and mouth drowning in soap by now--would have done in Scott's position.

At least Scott was relatable to Peter in some ways. Though they rarely hang out during free periods or talked to one another, they have this spiritual camaraderie of being nerds (cause you can sense these kinds of things), and they shared a history of being former victims of bullying.

"I-it's okay…" Peter manages, beginning the mental countdown of five minutes.





"I feel like every meal is a new concoction of something unnatural to this planet...realm...universe," Peter's forking at the mystery meat on his lunch tray.

Rogue, on the other hand, bravely might he add, dines in. She's vacuuming the food, not even stopping to swallow. Peter supposes it's understandable considering she completed three different obstacle courses, placing in the top 20 cadets holding the best record, and ran 30 laps afterward.

A little voice in Peter's head mocks him as he lingers on the way Rogue eats. Within these two weeks, Rogue's developed defined muscles, maybe not rippling, you have to look to notice them (not that he's been leering at her, or anything, they happen to be bunkmates). Meanwhile, though, Peter was still looking like the skinny, pint-sized person he's always been.

"Stop wallowing in self-pity, and eat. Be happy you aren't in worse conditions." Rogue responds in-between bites.

"It's ridiculous though, why do we have to be here? Some of us don't even have powers useful to the military," Peter starts.

Rogue's refrains from rolling her eyes, but does give Peter a 'Don't-Start-Shit-And-Please-Shut-the-Fuck-Up' look which he promptly ignores. Continuing his tirade, "I could be at home, doing nothing, and spending the rest of my days living a normal life. I don't mind wearing that crazy collar thing, or doing the drug therapy! I know they've got a way to subdue mutations."

"Peter, look," She's flinging her fork down on an empty tray, and shoving it forward." We've been over this when we first met. You and I both didn't want to be here, and sure enough, if they even ever consider we are our own persons and have rights, then I would be right alongside you to take whatever it is that would make us normal.

But it's just not going to happen. Maybe it isn't fair that some others were able to take that option, but the stark fact was that their powers were useless. On top of me being a freak of nature that kills what she touches, there is you. A boy, bitten by a spider that was exposed to radiation, and suddenly you are developing mutant abilities without having even a single gene expression of possible mutation. It's an anomaly. Anomalies are favored and prized. That's just how it is."

Rogue is picking up her tray, finished with her 'Once-A-Day-Speak-Sense-to-Idiot-Genius,' and charging along, passed fellow cadets. Peter scrambles up, with his plate, and hurries after her, his yelled, "Wait up!" fluttering into the noise of the mess hall.

Slotting the trays onto the tracks, they both turn to each other, Rogue beating to the punch, continuing her onslaught, "You need to get it together, or you won't survive. I am surprised you made it this long."

Her expression is soft as she says this, and Peter can't help but feel a little guilty. It's not that he's purposely trying to get himself tossed to the wayside, he's not meant for this. He should be--needs to be at home or in a lab...either would be okay with him.

"I just think I am better off not being here; you can see I am not made for this!" Peter insists.

They're walking side-by-side now, shuffling their way out of the mess hall, and back into the open air. Rogue's picking up speed now as they walk towards the tracks, once a cadet has finished their meal, they must return to their former station.

"I could do so much better in a lab, or anything not involving the physical." Peter continues," I'm a nerd, okay. I love science and want to be a chemical engineer. I am better useful going to college, and contributing my efforts to whatever science experiment the military program would have me do."

At that, Rogue whirls on him, fire in her eyes, "You think the Stark program will treat you any better?"

"Especially considering the scores that I made on my SAT."

"This isn't about that, Peter! You think they're going to allow a mutant that much leeway?" Rogue snaps, "You're not getting it. It's not about your brains! Yes, you're a genius if judging by how you manage to rig Kurt's dead phone to allow somehow all of us to make calls to our family, but that still doesn't change the fact that you have a list of superpowers that make you priceless to them."

"I can't even tap into half of them!" Peter shouts as he grabs onto his brown locks of hair.

"Because you're not trying hard enough," Rogue insists, she's going faster, and Peter is rushing to keep up with her, "You won't just accept your fate and make the most of it."

"I don't want this! I never asked for this."

"You know people would kill to be in your position." Rogue's breath is coming out a little more strained, "I know I would. At least you don't have a superpower that prevents you from ever feeling the intimate touch of those you love."

At that, Peter stumbles to a halt, watching as Rogue continues to jog away. He watches her fade down the track and feels the overwhelming sensation of guilt. That single shed tear on Rogue's face didn't go unnoticed by him.

It wasn't like he wasn't aware that he wasn't the only one suffering. God, that was a lot of wasn't's. He also wasn't as strong as people made him out to be. Curling his lips, Peter lets out a frustrated screaming while kicking at the marked, dirt path.

Why couldn't anyone understand him?

"Parker, where you think you're running off to?"

Of all people, Peter did not want to deal with Major Wilson again, but he knew it was inevitable. The superior officer didn't show up before lunch to see that he did manage to complete the pushups in time, and since everyone was heading to lunch, Peter had just meandered along not wanting to wait.

"Nowhere, sir," Peter replies, sullenly.

He's not looking up at Wilson, but he knows the man is getting irritated with his behavior. He doesn't even have time to prepare himself when Wilson's yanking his face upright, causing him to tip on his toes.

"You look at me when I speak to you, cadet." the sergeant sneered.

Peter's lips purse as he tries not to retort back. He flickers between staring into the devastatingly blue void of Wilson's eyes, and the trees surrounding them. He doesn't want this confrontation.

"Yessir," Peter finally croaks when he manages the courage to look at his superior. "I'm sorry, sir."

Wilson's eyes dart all over Peter's face, he pulls the cadet closer, and Peter can't help the grimace when hot breath and the weird smell of day-old guacamole reaches his sensitive nose.

Smashing their faces together, causing Peter to yelp in surprise, Wilson's lips press into his cheek, and as he slides his lips along the hollow, he speaks, "So cheeky and disobedient, I have half a mind to bend over my and smack your ass into submission."

Peter takes a shuddering breath; cheeks inflamed red and heart-pounding his ribcage like a drum. Why the fuck--the cussing, argh!--does Major Wilson always harass him? He squeezes his eyes shut, praying this would be over quickly.

"Now that I think on it," Wilson's pulling back some now, so he looks at Peter's angled face, "Wouldn't be much of a punishment, would it?"

The sergeant suddenly as a tight grip on his hips, dangerously close to pressing large fingers on his ass. Peter immediately struggles, wiping his head and clasping his hands on a firm chest, trying to get the sergeant to let him go.

"What's the matter, Petey-pie?"

"T-this is g-grossly inappropriate, sir." Peter struggles some more, "I-I'll report this."

Wilson lets out a bark of laughter and then crushes Peter to his chest, resulting in the teen to flail and sputter, face prominently red in the heating sun.

"Oh, baby boy, they don't care what I do as long as I keep producing obedient, little dolls for them to control." Wilson starts, his hands are now fulling grasping Peter's ass cheeks, forcing the teen to grip the man's shoulders less he wants to slam headfirst into the ass--avocado-skinned jerk's chest.

Red-faced and feeling inexplicably strange, Peter's grip tightens on Wilson's shoulders, and he darts his eyes around for anyone he could call for help.

"You know you could break out of this one your own, technically." He feels Wilson begin to knead his ass, causing Peter's breath to hitch. "Could use that super strength, eh?" His kneading goes from gentle to rough.

"Fuck, I could do some things to this ass," Wilson continues, and Peter freezes when he feels fingers dig in the way to close to the sacred hole between his cheeks.

"Nnngh," Peter wants to die of embarrassment at the sound he makes.

Wilson's eyes alight with glee, and he continues to knead and move his fingers closer to Peter's rim.

"P-please, s-stop," Peter tries, tears are starting to prickle in his eyes, "P-please."

"You gonna cry for me, baby boy?" Wilson says.

Peter's bottom lip trembles, fu--fudge!--he's never been so embarrassed in his life. Why was this happening to him? Why couldn't the asshat leave him alone?

Why the fuck--I swear Aunt May, I'll be a better man one day--was he getting turned on?

Before anything can go further, Peter's rescue comes by a cough and grunts coming from behind his superior. Peter can see through bleary eyes over Wilson's head that Sergeant Major Howlett was standing at attention behind his colleague, a scowl on his face.

"You mind dropping the kid, Wade," Howlett says, he averts his eyes when he catches Peter's teary gaze.

The man in question huffs, still molesting Peter, but turning around to give the other sergeant his full attention.

"Busy, here, Wolve-y, go bug someone else."

Dread seeps into Peter when Major Howlett looks hesitant. Peter doesn't know how much more he could make his face scream for help without saying it. He didn't want to be stuck with this madman.

"We're being called, meeting at 2, or did you forget again?"

Wilson pauses, dramatically sighs after a few minutes and finally put Peter down, though he still keeps a tight grip on him, hands shifting to the teen's lower back.

"Fine, fine, I'll be there in a minute." Wilson waves off the major, and Howlett retreats.

Peter could never be grateful enough to the shorter male, one of the few sergeants at the camp that doesn't seem intimidated by Sergeant Major Wilson.

"Now, where were we?" Wilson said as he looked down at Peter's frightened face. "You look so cute, like a scared, little puppy."

He pats Peter on the head and lets him go before squatting to be eye level. "You're free to return to normal drills, cadet. And I promise," Wilson's large hand is framing the side of Peter's tear-stained cheek, "When I finally get my dick inside your sweet, virgin man-pussy, you won't be scared of me anymore."

Choking on his spit, Peter can do nothing but spasm in shock as Wilson winks at him before walking off.

What the actual fuck? Sorry Aunt May, but Peter is going to curse what Peter is going to...curse.

Chapter Text

"Why didn't you tell me, Peter?"

It's not enough that Peter already felt the shameful, incessant sting of cold metal on his neck, but the look Aunt May was giving him was dreadful.

He felt as he looked, a collared, stray dog waiting to be carted to the pound and put down.

She's so pale and fragile-looking, perched on the edge of the plastic chair, not looking at Peter, but peering forlornly at the gray face of her unconscious husband.

Peter counted the time it's been since he witnessed his beloved uncle get shot, 13 hours, 24 minutes, and 32 seconds. And in that amount of time, an ambulance was called, his uncle rushed to the hospital and all the while Peter was detained like some deranged criminal, collared and thrust into military authority.

A price to pay for being a mutant.

Aunt May looks at him this time, brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Was it desperation for some understanding? Or desperation to confirm a truth that Peter never wanted to be revealed?

Peter can't say anything, though. Even when he opens his mouth, and wants words to tumble forth, he feels parched like dried seabed, and can't form the words.

Aunt May looks away this time. The doctors said Uncle Ben would make it, but things wouldn't be the same. The damage to his primary motor cortex was enough to impair most physical movement, subjugated to live the rest of his life as a cripple.

Why didn't you tell them? Haunts Peter as he remains stiff in the plastic chair. Their words echo through his entire being and stay with him even when the authorities return, stating he can come back tomorrow but must spend the night in solitary confinement.

A piece of Peter is breaking when Aunt May doesn't look up to say goodbye, shattering into nothing when she only crumbles into a sob. Head plastered to Uncle Ben's wrinkled hand, and her shoulders trembling with silent dismay.

There was nothing good that came to the existence of a mutant, Peter reminds himself.

Nothing good.


It's like a neverending story.

Peter wakes at the ass crack of dawn, jumps into his uniform in a minute--because god-forbid you're a second less--and then bark off the day's meal and schedule, and then run the usual routine of being harrassed by everyone and their fucking dog (not that Peter had anything against dogs).

There was just never a moment's peace for him, which explains his current situation. Just another day in the life of Peter fucking Benjamin Parker.

"Puny Parker!"

"Must suck to be small dicked and weak."

"Pathetic ass!"

Peter's tossed into the fountain, sopping wet already from having his head shoved into a toilet bowl of piss. It was actually a relief to him to remain flat in the basin, soaking up the water, and feeling the rain plummet from the skies.

"What a loser…"

"Let's leave him, we can mess with him tomorrow."

"Bye-bye, puny penis Parker!"

Peter barely listens to the fading crunch of combat boots on gravel. Just tuning out everything that makes him miserable in this hellhole. The rain seems to help, hearing the way it hits the gravel, the metal rooftops, and the military trucks.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers," Peter whispers. "Singing my life with his words…"

What better way to add to the misery then some Roberta Flack? She always knew how to sing it.

Killing me softly...

He stares up at the dark clouds, only blinking when water smatters his eyes, but it's soothing. A part of him thinks he should pull himself out, he's bound to get sick, but the other part of him doesn't feel like moving.

"Super hearing, sight, all that fancy-schmancy stuff. Increased metabolism, superiorly quick reflexes...oh, what's this, super strength?"

There's a clattering sound that offsets the rain's downpour. The sharp clip of a metal folder snapping shut. Peter frowns and begins to pick himself up to see who the intruder of his mental reprieve is.

"You seemed to have a penchant for masochism, cadet." Sergeant Major Wilson hovers over Peter, his robust frame looming over the teen.

The man seems in his element standing there in the rain. Water trickles down his scarred, bald head and his blue eyes seem to be glowing menacingly in the low light of the building.

"Sergeant Major." Peter starts, but he's fumbling over himself to get out of the fountain.

The man snorts, squatting to level himself with Peter's eyes, and props his face on his free hand, the other preoccupied with holding Peter's military file.

He looks bored and completely unimpressed as he stares the teen out of existence.

"You're really a sad sight, Peter Parker. At this rate, they might toss you into the Stark Program."

Peter averts his eyes, "I don't see a problem with that."

"I do," Sergeant Major Wilson begins, "waste of pure talent. I could see you unaliving so many fucktards. Really gets a man's blood pumping just thinking about it."

His scarred lips suddenly twist in a crude grin.

Peter feels the heat rise in his cheeks despite the deep setting cold that's seeped into his bones. He's never appeared comfortable in the presence of Wade W. Wilson. The man exuded intimidation and was horribly ill-mannered.

"That's inappropriate...sir." Petter sneers quietly.

"What was that?"

The Sergeant Major cupped his ear and leaned close to Peter, "I couldn't hear you over all the self-pitying."

Peter flushes and huffs, "T-that's inappropriate, s-sir!"

"Really now," the man hums. "As inappropriate as getting your face shoved in piss?"

Peter opens his mouth, but then abruptly closes it.

"How long are you going to let others walk all over your, cadet?"

"I don't know what you' re--"

"Do you just enjoy being the butt of jokes? Getting your ass whooped? Looking like a sad shit of a puppy left out to die?"

"No!" Peter snaps.

"Could've fooled me."

"Please leave me alone, sir." Peter just wants to wallow in his own self-pity alone. He's had enough of this place.

"No can do, I like to push buttons too much."


Before Peter could say more though, he's being heaved and suddenly finds himself dragged out of the fountain, across the yard, and then slammed into the side of the barracks.

"Let me go!" Peter cries out as his face is ground into the wall.

He's already got a bruise forming there from his previous encounter, and now it was stinging sharply from the pressure.

"I'm sorry,, not sorry actually," Sergeant Major Wilson chuckles, "You're gonna have to resist better than that, sweetcheeks. Lest I get my way."

"Stop, please!"

The officer ignores the plea though, his eyes zoned in on the firm, succulent ass squirming in front of him. He doesn't hesitate in gripping the hem of Peter's cargo pants and briefs, yanking them down to reveal supple and smooth, creamy globes.

"You are one lucky, sonofabitch, Parker. Look at these babies," the Sergeant Major coos.

Peter's eyes widen as he struggles against the officer more. He expected a lot of things, but not outright sexual harassment. Wasn't this against the fucking law? Heart hammering in his chest, Peter's mind scrambled for outs.

"You know how to get me off, baby boy." Sergeant Major Wilson stated. He meant it in the most sexual way as possible, but also as Peter's hint to his move to escape.

Peter shudders from the hot breath on his ear, not at all turned on by this. This was fucking rape! And the smell of burritos and nachos was making his stomach churn in knots.

There's a sharp groan in Peter's ear as he yelps when a hand gropes for one of his ass cheeks. His face is blistering red as he smacks his head into the wall. And it takes everything in Peter not to let out a moan because fuck that damn omega genetic shit that came with his mutation, he was not going to suddenly cant his hips for any asshole that expresses the alpha trait.

Which most obviously, Sergeant Major Wilson did thoroughly.

"So scrumptious," came another groan, "so squishy."

And then if Peter wasn't already panicked enough, he hears the undoing of a belt buckle. It finally sets into Peter he can't hold back anymore lest he wants to lose his backdoor virginity, right here and now.

"Get," Peter starts as he pressed his forehead harder into the wall, "The fuck." Peter contorts his abdominals, perching his feet on the wall, temporarily pressing into the firm chest of his commanding officer.

"OFF!" Peter shouts as he crunches forward before launching backward. Knocking Sergeant Major Wilson back and flipping over him.

"Woo, Parker!" Sergeant Major Wilson shouted. He's got blood dripping from his nose where Peter's head may have rammed into as he escaped.

He's not even phased by his broken nose or Peter's display of dexterity and strength. He stands back up, turning his powerful gaze at Peter, watching as the teen grapples with pulling his briefs and pants back on.

"See, now isn't that better?"

"Fuck you!" Peter screams once he has righted his pants.

"Oh, baby, don't you worry. I'll have you bent over--"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me, all sorts of things, sweety. But it could be all right once I have you screaming underneath me."

Peter bristles at his commanding officer's blatant flirtatious behavior. He was so confused. Sergeant Major Wilson was always hounding him, picking at him not just with sexual innuendo, but also harassing him about how he won't show his full potential.

He was tired of it and didn't ask for it.

Peter didn't want to be a mutant.

He was NORMAL.

He wasn't born a superhuman--breathing fire, disappearing through walls. He was born fucking normal, and it all had to go up in shit.

"Why can't you just let me be?!" Peter screams.

The Sergeant Major is forcing him backward with every step he takes towards the teen. There isn't a verbal response to Peter's question, but his commanding officer's expression suddenly changes.

Flirtatious behavior is gone now, the former Special Forces Captain's face contorts into something cold and frightening that has Peter's danger senses screaming at him to flee.

But Peter doesn't want to fight, and he doesn't want to become an elite soldier. And since Peter tries to ignore the tingle of his spine, he doesn't anticipate the sudden charge, the roar that Sergeant Major Wilson lets out.

Peter feels like he sees his life flash before his eyes. One minute he's crouching in the rain, the next is his head smacking into the ground after banging into the side of the truck. Wilson ran towards him, picked him up with his enormous strength, and tossed him like some kind of ragdoll at the military vehicle.

"Get the fuck up, Parker!" the Sergeant yells.

Peter groans as tears prickle in his eyes. He just wants to go home. Wants to go back to Aunt May's warm embraces, and Uncle Ben's soothing laughter.

He didn't ask for this.

"Is that it? Huh?" Wilson shouts again, "Is this all the fuck you are? Puny penis Parker?"

Peter clenches his eyes shut. He slaps his hands over his ears and tries to block everything out. The rain, Wilson, his own thoughts.

Just go the fuck away!

"Oh, is Petey-baby gonna cry? Does he want his mommy and daddy now? Oh, that's right, those shits are dead. Just a little orphan boy that no one wants."

"Shut up, shut up!" Peter wretches.

"I wonder what your Uncle Ben would say if he saw you now."

Something inside Peter snaps at the mention of his uncle. His poor, crippled uncle all because of him.

"Don't you dare!"

"Bet he always knew you'd grow up to be so pathetic. Probably why he treated you so sweetly...or maybe," Wilson's grin turns lecherous, "He wanted to make you so soppy and weak because he wished to have that gorgeous ass all to himself."

He doesn't know what comes over him. One minute Peter is trying so hard to ignore Wilson's taunts, and the next he's enraged. The asshat has gone too far. Crossing the one line that Peter valued most.

His uncle.

He wasn't going to have it.

Peter doesn't even think, he throws himself into action. Rolling under the truck, scrambling to crouch before pressing his head and shoulders into the underside, and crushing his palms on different truck parts.

He can hear the grind and the ache as he starts screaming. He presses upward, feeling his muscles yell at him for doing something he may be physically able to do, but hasn't practiced at all.

Peter doesn't stop though, he doesn't stop when he hears his shoulder dislocates or feels the sharp pain it brings, doesn't stop when Wilson starts laughing maniacally, doesn't stop when he could visualize Aunt May's tear-stained face.

And when the weight is suddenly gone, Peter is watching, momentarily awed by his own power as he manages to lift the truck and launch it in the air.

He watches as it twirls, hurtling towards his target. He sees it soar through the splatters of rain, and then he drops his gaze to see his commanding officer looking up with wonder and amaze.

The man makes no move to dodge the vehicle, just merely smiles as it comes hurtling towards him, and for a moment there's a darker part of Peter that thinks good.


And then Peter is coming to his senses.

"MOVE!" Peter is screaming, rushing a few paces forward.

Wilson doesn't though, seemingly accepting his fate of getting crushed to death. Peter can't take that, though, he doesn't want to be like that. Peter will not be a killer. And all that anger he felt just a moment ago is now washing away with fear and panic.

Uncle Ben would be so disappointed in him. "With great power comes great responsibility, Peter."

"Fuck!" Peter screams because he isn't going to make it in time to push Wilson out of the way.

And a part of him thinks if the man's a mutant, he can deal with this one his own, but he also doesn't want to know if Wilson can't deal with it on his own.

Peter does the one thing he can only do and curses himself. There was one mutation he hoped he could keep secret--it disgusted and bothered him seeing unnatural proof of his new freak of nature. But now it looks like it wouldn't be the case because it was his only solution to saving the moron about to get pancaked like the motherfucker he is.

The teen runs forward, shooting his arms out, outstretching his hands, and then pulling his ring and middle fingers towards his palms.

He refrains from grimacing the moment he feels it, welling up and silken strands jet out to latch on to Sergeant Major Wilson. Digging heels into the muddy ground, Peter groans as he yanks hard, twisting on the balls of his feet as he swings a shocked officer out of the way as the truck slams into the ground.

He tosses Wilson into the mud next to him and drops to his knees in a huff. Adrenaline suddenly leaving him, and the exhaustion of the night settling into his core.

It's quiet for a moment as Wilson just lays there, seemingly fascinated by the white webbing that's stuck all over him.

Peter nearly faints from how overwhelmingly tired he is, but then jerks his head when he hears the loud, "Holy fucking chimichangas, what is this shit?" coming from his commanding officer.

Wade's suddenly wrestling out of it until he's upright and free. Webbing still dangling at his fingertips, he marches right up to Peter.

The teen panics, trying to scramble to his feet and backing up until his back meets the hard siding of another truck.

"Baby boy," Wilson drawls huskily, "You've been hiding out on me."

Peter's eyes widen as the Sergeant Major practically suffocates his personal space, and bears down upon him with his smoldering, blue eyes.

Wilson dips down, nose to nose with Peter, and just looks at him for a moment. Peter tries to think of something, anything to say, but his thoughts are abruptly scrambled to bits when the man snatches his right hand and then exposes his wrist.

His commanding officer turns to look at it, eyeballing it so critically before he lets out a hum, and presses a fat thumb on the faint patch of skin that is a little darker than the rest of Peter.

The place where his webbing ejects.


Peter wants to die at the audible sound he lets out, causing the Sergeant Major to slowly turn his head, pupils dilated and white teeth displayed in a predatory grin.

"Baby boy," Wilson whispers that awful nickname huskily once more, his disgusting breath causing Peter's eyes to flutter and his cheeks to heat.

He presses again, rough, scarred thumb rubbing on the spot and Peter immediately squeals out, "F-fuck, s-stop," before biting his free hand because another moan lets out.

As if Wilson hadn't already set up permanent residence in his personal bubble, he was practically glued to Peter now and Peter to the truck. The outranking office presses himself bodily into Peter, making it very known to Peter what the teen was doing to the Sergeant Major.

Peter desperately tried to not think about the hard length crushed up against his pelvis. Nor think about how his own cock was hardening, taking an interest in the sudden situation.

"Attention, all cadets and officers, dinner will begin in 30 minutes. Please begin to clear up your station halls, finalize your duties, and report to Hall B by 19:00 hours, sharp." comes the intercom announcement.

Peter lets out the breath he doesn't know he was holding, his neck warm and his cheeks are hot, and his cock aching as Wilson steps back.

The Sergeant Major briefly looks over his shoulder where he can begin to see doors opening and closing as cadets and other officers start moving about. He turns back though, looking at Peter who looks deliciously molested and prime for good fucking.

"Looks like our fun time is over, cadet." the Sergeant Major says. "I expect you to have this mess cleaned and be at dinner promptly, though."

Peter swallows dryly and glares at his commanding officer. Gaping at the man, he can't believe he was left to have to clean up the mess that the asshole started in the first place.

The teen watches as the officer merely smirks and turns on his heel to walk away. He wants to say something horrendously snarky, but Peter holds it back for fear he would get Wilson's attention, and the asshole would come back to harass him some more.

"And Cadet Parker," Wilson does say, snapping Peter ramrod straight and tense. He's near the fountain now, picking up the discard folder Peter has long since forgotten about.

For a moment, the Sergeant Major looks softly at Peter, through a downpour of rain, Peter notes that Wilson's blue eyes are not as malicious as they were before.

"I hope from here on out, I will see you stand up for yourself. And that the next time I run into Cadet Storm and his lackeys, they'll have some sizeable bruises on their faces."

With that, the Sergeant Major starts jogging off, he waves his hand in the air, and gives Peter another word of peace, "Don't worry about your little secret either, Spidey."

S-spidey! Spidey! WHAT?

It takes ten minutes of Peter blinking rapidly, shivering in the rain to try to wrap his mind around what the fuck just happened. And it takes another five before he's cursing himself because if he really doesn't clean this shit up, and make it to dinner on time, it won't be Sergeant Major Wilson he would need to worry about.

No one wants to ever be on the wrong side of Sergeant Major Howlett, known on the field as Wolverine for his...Peter isn't even going to bother going over the monstrosity that is the famed legend. All he knows that though he never made as high of a kill count as his own commanding officer, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

"Fuck me," Peter cries as he begins trying to lift the truck he threw.

He wonders how much of that was going to come out of his future salary as a Second Lieutenant. He hopes the damage isn't extensive.




Chapter Text

Two weeks have passed since the incident outside with Sergeant Major Wilson. Peter tries not to think about it, though, as he dials Aunt May's number. Crammed under his bunk bed, Peter is hoping to garner some privacy with this phone call.

Cadets are currently sequestered in their barracks as they wait for orders. Apparently, some big shot from the upper ranks of the military was coming to oversee how the training was going. It seems they do this yearly, but Peter found it to be one of the few opportunities he may be able to talk to his aunt at a decent hour when she wasn't exhausted.

"Hello?" Aunt May says, her voice crackling through.

Peter's eyes light up as he holds a piece of the old cell's receiver, he really did a number to rig Kurt's cell phone.

"Aunt May! It's Peter."

"Oh, Peter,'s good to hear your voice," Aunt May says.

Peter purses his lips, the last time they spoke was three days after he arrived at the boot camp. He was hesitant then as he is now, though the disappointment and sadness were no longer in her voice. Aunt May seemed different now...or maybe it was Peter that changed.

"How are you?" Aunt May asks after a pause.

It takes all Peter has not to wallow and cry. He tried not to make it sound like he was scared or upset. Though he complained about wanting to go home every day to Rogue, he definitely didn't wish for Aunt May to know and worry about him.

She had enough to worry about.

"I-I'm good. I've made a friend."

"That's wonderful to hear, Peter. I hope they're treating you well."

Peter can't help the cold laugh that tumbles out because reflecting on the past few weeks makes him nauseous. He never wanted to be a liar, but there were a lot of things he had been doing differently since the day he was bitten.

Lying, cursing, getting people shot...all the things that Aunt May would disapprove of.

"A-Aunt May… I miss you." Peter finally breathes out, a tremor runs through him.

There is a soft, long sigh over the phone, "I miss you as well, sweetheart. But this is for the best, no?"

Peter tenses, "..."

At a loss for words, Peter nearly forgot how his Aunt May and Uncle Ben have always viewed the treatment of mutants. Peter's own view developed from theirs, they were powerful beings that needed to be watched and...guided as Uncle Ben once said.

"Yeah," Peter feels hollow when he responds.

"Good. Well, I shouldn't keep you for long. I know you aren't supposed to be calling us." Aunt May has a soft lilt of humor in her voice as she speaks. "Such a clever boy, you've always been."

Peter feels tears drip onto his lips, startled by them, he hastily wipes them away, "C-can I say hi to Uncle Ben before you go?"

There's a tense pause, Peter doesn't need to be there to feel it through the line, "Ah, Peter… I don't think t-that is such a good idea. He's still recovering, he still needs time."

Do you really think you deserve to speak with him? He doesn't want to hear from you ever again.

"Oh...o-okay." Peter chews on his lips.

"Alright, I'll tell him you send your love. You take care, Peter."

"Wait--Aunt May, did you give the cell number to Liz?"

Aunt May is startled by Peter's last question. She sounds hesitant, but does answer, "I did."

Peter feels his stomach knot, knowing that there's another word, or statement missing. Something more is wanting to be said, but his aunt is disregarding it. Peter wonders if he can push, but the fact that Liz hasn't bothered contacting should be statement enough.

"Okay...yeah, well I-I'll let you go then. Please, please tell Uncle Ben I love him, and I'm... I'm always thinking about him." Peter finally says.

"Of course. Goodbye, Peter."

Takes a few moments for Peter to acknowledge the dial tone and hang up on his end. Another few moments for him to really soak up the reality.

He felt so alone.

Before Peter's thoughts can tread any further, he lets out a yelp as a weight lands on his bed, bouncing the rusted springs, and knocking Peter's head smack into the concrete flooring.

"Majja focha!" Peter snaps as he slides out from underneath his bunk, holding on to his bleeding nose.

"Oh, my bad didn't see you there, Pussy Parker."

"Wadja wan, Johnny?!" Peter should probably not be wasting his time with this fool and heading to the infirmary.

"Oh, how cute, he can't speak properly. Guess even geniuses can catch stupid." Johnny says, and his lackeys, Thing--because what else could describe the monstrosity next to him--and Mr. Fantastic--honestly, who was coming up with the nicknames!--were also piling on to Peter's bed.

He could hear the ominous creak when Thing manages to squeeze himself between Johnny and Mr. Fantastic. Peter never bothered to learn their real names, and Peter refused to refer to Johnny by his stated asshole name of Flaming Torch.

Ego, much?

"G-ger off my begt, n weave me awone," Peter says as he braces his arm against the oncoming flow of blood.

"But that's no fun! Especially with you blubbering over your aunt. What would Major Wilson think if he hears you're breaking the rules?" Mr. Fantastic chirps, a snarky grin adorning his dumb face.

Peter tries to ignore what the name Major Wilson does to him. But it can't stop the momentary flashes of memory--scarred skin, blue eyes, and his strange words. It doesn't help that Major Wilson also has been ignoring him since then, and it's making him feel weird.

Alright, maybe not outright ignoring, he still was a dick to Peter, but the attention lessened--in other words, Peter wasn't sexually harassed by him all the damn time anymore.

"Foch u," Peter huffs.

He decides it's better to just walk away, he needs to take care of this nose problem, and fortunately managed to squander the phone away in his clothes before he came out from under the bed.

Johnny had no business with him, and he had no business with Johnny.

"Oh hell, no, don't run away, bitch." Johnny is reaching for him, "Whatchya hiding in that shirt of yours?"

"Dun chouch me!" Peter snarls--or as best as one can with a broken nose and a mouth covered in blood.

"Give it here," Thing shouts, and he is getting up to assist Johnny.

Immediately, the color drains from Peter's face, he knows once Thing grabs him, that bastard will crush him.

'How long are you gonna let these shit heads do what they want to you?'

Peter's eyes widen marginally, and he momentarily looks away from Thing and Johnny, who are now struggling to break apart his arms. He could swear he just heard Major Wilson, but as Peter whips his head around the room, wide-eyed, there's no sight of the superior officer. Just a barrack full of sweaty cadets bored out of their minds.

"Move, Johnny, I'll bend this bitch over."

Johnny has a vicious grin on his face, shouting that Peter was royally fucked now before flinging himself back to land on the bed. Mr. Fantastic also looking just as eagerly excited. Thing is on him, wrapping his arms around Peter before the teen can react, and begins to lift and crush Peter.

Peter is hastily squirming, darting his eyes for help, but the other cadets are ignoring their squabble.

Each person to their own!

"Ph-phut me d-down!" Peter screeches.

Thing only cackles though as he squeezes harder. Panicking, Peter debates on all his options.

A) He could scream bloody murder, loud enough for some office to come running in. B) He could fight back...or C) just let himself turn into a bloody heap and make his healing mutation work overtime.

'Such a pussy...and I really thought you were going to be different.'

Oh my god! Would the ghost of Wilson leave him alone and stop whispering to him?

Peter wants to bang his head against the wall.



'Pussy, pussy, pussy.'

He was losing his goddamn mind.


Peter lets out a roar of frustration that startles Thing enough to drop him. It was bad enough he couldn't find peace away from Wade in reality, but now mentally too? Did the man have telepathy he didn't know about?

'No, but that would be cool.'

Obviously, Peter was having a mental breakdown, and just in time too. His aunt thinks he's a freak, his uncle blames him for ruining his life, his girlfriend wants nothing to do with him. His friends are probably going to counseling for the traumatic experience of not realizing they were friends with a mutant.

He's stuck in some hellhole boot camp, getting horny over a sadistic bastard that finds nothing more entertaining than to fondle his goods. And then these assholes who think they're better than him! And won't leave him the fuck alone--


Peter freezes in his mental tirade, suddenly becoming aware of precisely what he was doing. All cadets had paused, staring at him eye-wide.

After being unceremoniously dropped by Thing, Peter had scrambled onto the bunk bed across from his, broke and threw the top half at the trio who had been pissing him off, which they had managed to barely dodge the incoming projectile that then knocked his bunk bed and several others down.

And now Peter was just jumping up, and down the bed he was still on, pulling at his hair with such ferocity he should have some bald patches, and looking like a psych ward patient going through psychosis.

Did he mention he also dropped the cell, and in its fragile state already from his handiwork was now shattered and broken on the concrete floor?

Just fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Johnny is the first one to bust out laughing, pointing a finger at Peter, and heralding the stupidity of the cadet to all others. Those other cadets that also would have been pancaked by Peter's projectile were looking ready to deck out some vengeance, and Peter couldn't help feel the dread that sank through him.

At a loss for words, Peter wasn't sure what he could do. Mr. Fantastic seemed to have an idea as he was whispering into a disturbed-faced Thing who now was sporting a maniacal grin.

Before anyone can process it, Thing is hurtling towards Peter, and for once instead of being so gobsmacked, and frighten Peter lets that strange tingling sensation that zips up and down his spine--causing the hairs on his whole body to stand--to take over.

"What the--" Thing is cut off as he comes crashing onto the bed, missing Peter as the teen jumps up with dexterity he didn't know he had, twisting his body in the air with a flexibility that should be illegal, and sticking to the ceiling.

"Ah, HAH!" Shouts the voice of none other than Scott Lang in the distance, "I knew we weren't the only bug mutants out there, Hope!"

Hope, whom Scott was shouting at unnecessarily, just rolled her eyes before using her wasp-like wings to smack the cadet and his trojan of ants that crawled all over him, into the wall.

Peter is as wide-eyed and shocked as his fellow cadets that were now murmuring in loud whispers, pointing at Peter who has glued himself to the ceiling. Peter couldn't even understand it himself, as he looked at his hands, felt the odd curvature of the metal roof, eyed all the world upside down.

Thing tried to jump up on the bed and use the momentum to reach Peter. It was counterintuitive though because he only busted a hole through the mattress and metal framing and landed knees to the ground.

"Oh, you are so going to get it now, dipshit!" Johnny growls out as he suddenly alights in flames.

Peter's eyes are practically running from out of his skull, and if it weren't for the crazy way his spine made him feel like someone was defibrillating the life out of him, he would have been roasting.

Peter isn't sure how he does it, it's like after that incident with Wilson, he's more in tune with his body's instincts. He's dodging left, right, left as Johnny fires one ball of flame after another towards the ceiling, busting hole after hole into their barrack's roof.

Sun filters through these holes as Peter flips and twists and shifts across the ceiling like he was a zombie, or alien from some demented horror film.

Or maybe he was scuttling like a bug like Scott had said. Maybe a centipede, or a cockroach?

Or how bought a cave cricket, they were quick nasty suckers. Or maybe more like a--

"SPIDER!" Scott screeches when Peter ends up crawling away from Johnny's fire, hovering over the enthusiastic bug mutant.

The idiot still hasn't bothered to climb out of the mess Hope put in him, and instead was happily pointing at Peter and then waving wildly like a gaggle of teens at a K-Pop concert.

"What the fuck is going on here?" comes a loud shout from the main doors of the barracks.

All parties freeze as Sergeant Major Howlett busts in, metallic claws outstretched and a poor cigar, looking quite brutalized, dangled from his lips. His dark eyes darted around the room, daring any of the cadets to continue in their idiocy.

Johnny doesn't have time to even shut his flame off before a loud, "HURRY, HURRY, SQUIRT THE WATER!" booms from behind Major Howlett to the tune of Wheels on the Bus, and both the major, most of the cadets, and mainly Johnny is dosed in a thicket of cold as ice spray.

Even Peter manages to get hit and is amazed that he wasn't knocked off the ceiling, in fact, his sticky--whatever business--seemed to stick harder.

"FUCKING HELL WILSON!" Major Howlett looks like a drenched kitten, spiked hair moping down like wet ears.

"Oopsies…" Wilson says as he steps in, hose in hand. "A little too much water there, Cap!"

"Sorry," is faintly heard from somewhere outside.

"Just trying to help out there, Logan. I know how you are about fire," Wilson winks at the shorter male.

Said male looked all the world ready to skewer Wilson into the ground. And Wilson looked all the word like a kid in a candy shop about to get the motherload of all jawbreakers.

"Guys, chill," comes Captain Roger's voice. "Alright, cadets, what's going on here?"

Captain Rogers immediately commanded the presence of the room, though ranked as a Sergeant Major like the others, he earned his name 'Captain America' for being such a polite, well-mannered and do-gooding individual. And everyone just naturally referred to him as the Cap or Captain Rogers.

"He started it!" Johnny snaps, having overcome his shock of being put out, and then whirling an accusatory finger towards the ceiling over Scott Lang.

All eyes follow that finger to land on a blushing Peter, who was in an awkward position on the ceiling. His back was splayed out against the metal roof with his palms pressed firmly at different angles, the same with his feet. He never managed to get his boots on this morning since he found no reason to with them being forced to stay in their barracks.

Peter's wet hair clung to his forehead as he hesitated to release a hand and wave sheepishly at his superior officers.

"Well... that's something you don't see every day," Major Howlett rumbles. His eyebrows are raised high, and all his anger seemed to ebb away while gazing at Peter.

"I KNOW RIGHT!" Scott suddenly shouts, scrambling up, and enthusiastically waving his hands around still. "He's like a spider!"

"OH MY GOSH!" Scott suddenly whirls around to Hope, "Wasp!"

He points dramatically to himself, "Ant!" and then throws all his hands up towards Peter like he's praising a deity, "SPIDER!"

Some cadets can't help the muffled laughs that come out, Scott didn't have many friends, but he did prove to be some witty entertainment. Even Captain American was chuckling before stepping forward, and getting a better look at Peter--craning his muscular neck.

"You mind coming down here, son?" Captain Rogers asks.

Peter feels his skin tingle, fear alighting as his eyes dart to Johnny's menacing glare, then to Thing who's still stuck in the bed frame, and then Mr. Fantastic. Peter doesn't even dare to look in Wilson's direction, see what he felt was his lecherous gaze burning through every fiber of his uniform.

"Um," Peter begins.

Captain Rogers though cuts him off, "Looks like you got quite the shiner there," blues eyes dart a glare at Johnny before turning back to Peter, softening, "Promise, no one is going to be hurting anyone. We need to talk and sort this out like responsible adults."

It wasn't that Peter didn't want to come down, or so he thinks as he eyes Captain Rogers warily. Though the man has a friendly air about him, and his proffered hand looks so serene and welcoming, Peter didn't trust one iota of anything that came out of anyone's mouth in this joint. Except for Rogue.

There's also the tiny factor that he's pretty sure he's glued to the roof, permanently.

"I-I can't," Peter finally says.

At that, the Captain raises both his brows, and he means to say something, but Peter never gets to know. Suddenly, soft-kind blue eyes are now being blocked off by perverted, sadistic ones that have Peter pressing himself further into the ceiling.

"My, my, my baby boy! You just love keeping all the sweet stuff from me, eh?" Wilson hisses, leering up at Peter, arms crossed and muscles tensed.

"Wade, seriously, let me," Captain Rogers starts.

"No can do, spangles. This muchacho is all mine, and apart of my squad, which this happens to be my barracks. So you can take your stars and stripped ass outta here, and let me handle this."

Captain Rogers frowns, "I've been observing your squad, and noted five times more bullying and abuse occurring here--"

"Ah, ah," Wilson puts a finger to the blonde's lips, causing the older male's brows to furrow. "Don't be getting all high and mighty on me now, schnuckums. I know Daddy Soldier over there ain't been nothing but hot iron on hard asses all week long. You can't be saying I am doing something when you don't go and tame your pet who's two barracks down."

At this point, Rogers has slapped Wilson's finger away, face inflamed in red, and looking desperately at Major Howlett for support. The Wolverine does nothing but shrug before taking a puff of his cigar; Peter would like to know how that thing is still burning after the avalanche of water Wilson sprang on everyone.

"Now, where was I?" Wilson hums and suddenly claps his hands together, "Oh!"

"Get that squishy ass down here, Parker!" Wilson shouts.

Peter immediately shakes his head 'no' rapidly.

"Are--are you saying--is he saying no to me?" Wilson snaps at a random, poor cadet.

The cadet immediately nods his head faster than one can press the elevator button repeatedly. Wilson sneers at the cadet who yelps in surprise, stumbling into the person behind him which happens to be a cursing Johnny.

"And you!" Wilson shoves a fat digit into the blonde teen's face, "Who gave you the right to put holes in my roof?"

"S-sorry, sir." Johnny stutters.

"S-s-sorry ain't gonna cut it, Goldie Locks, LOOK AT THE STATE OF THIS PLACE?" Wilson splashes the water that's puddled on the floor with his boot. "You see this? Who's going to clean it. Not me, right? Will it be you?"


"Come again?"


"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you from the sound of you pissing in your pants. Whadya say?" Wilson has squatted down and was leaning his ear into Johnny's crotch.


"Good boy!" Wilson has the audacity to pat Johnny on the head, as if he were a dog. " Johnny-boy, here, will be getting a doggy treat, and any of you mutts could too if this place is cleaned before Colonel Fury gets here."

At first, no one makes a move right away until Wilson's barking again, "¿No estoy hablando inglés? Hop to it, cadets!"

Everyone immediately starts bustling, event Scott who was still awkwardly holding out his vigil prayer towards Peter. The teen has a hunch Scott would have remained that way had Hope not snatched his hand and dragged him off, her wasp wings buzzing in irritation.

With everyone moving about, Peter means to crawl away; he could probably make his way down a wall back to familiar ground.

"Nope, you are not going anywhere, cadet," Wilson says, and Peter's jaw is dropping because suddenly the major was standing before him with a long broom.

When and where the hell did he get that?

"Well, that's our cue, Rogers," Howlett says, he's dropping his cigar on the floor, and barks at a cadet to clean it up before walking out.

Captain Rogers gives Peter one last apologetic look before sweeping his eyes at the other cadets and then nodding. He places his camo hat back on his head, righting it before walking out of the barracks.

Peter doesn't get the chance to watch him walk out the door because bristles are now being smacked into his face. He yelps when few poke his eyes and some others scratch up his already injured nose.

"Don't make me get the bug spray, Parker!" Wilson warns, cackling evilly.

Peter really hated this man.